


How Much is it Worth

by BeefFilledShark



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU where everything goes to shit, F/F, I'll do my best to avoid horrendous accents, I'm so sorry for all the butchered languages, Multiple POV's, Overwatch!Widowmaker, REALLY shitty writing, Slice of Life, Talon Lena "Tracer" Oxton, angst will occur, google translate is my only friend, it will, things are gonna get saucy, will definitely add more tags as this rubbish grows in size, will try my best to get everyone in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeefFilledShark/pseuds/BeefFilledShark
Summary: A sacrifice is only worth as much as the life it saves. But how does one measure someone's merit? Is it weighted in material value, the total earnings in their life? Or relationships, the bonds formed throughout their life.This teetered on Amélie's mind everytime she took to her best and zeroed in on a target, both in her time on Overwatch and as a lone gun.Now on the nights by her lonesome, she finds herself pondering this question, attempting to drown out the rest of her dim, lifeless thoughts screaming in her head.





	1. Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my little belated birthday present to you guys. Sorry if it's a bit cringey. I've been having to read Huckleberry Finn for school so I feel like my grammar and overall vocabulary is in the toilet. Criticism, good or bad, is always welcome and very well needed.

" **Jack Morrison you are fucking dead!"**

 **"** Ana I told you! I didn't do it!"

" **Like hell** **!** "

"I don't kno- Ah! God damn it don't throw those wrenches at me! They hurt!"

The hallway resounded with the metallic clangs of flying tools on metal walls as well as a string Arabic curses and the shrieks of a strike-commander.

"Ana please! I didn't spray your damn gun!" Jack pleaded, prompting a momentary break in the fusillade of various tools and equipment.

" **Ok, Jack,**   **then please explain why there isred and white paint on your jacket _Tizak_!** "

"Ok look, I know how this may seem, bu-" his sentence was cut off by a screwdriver slamming into the wall inches from his head, wobbling as it stood erect in it. His stomach felt as though it jumped off ten stories of a building.

" **OH HOW IT MAY SEEM _YBN EL-MITNEKA!_ I'LL SHOW YOU HOW THE INSIDE OF YOUR HEAD SEEMS!** "

"Fuck!" Morrison tapped his earpiece, "Reyes where the hell are you! Ana's about to strangle me!"

* * *

"The ingrate and I are in the Security Hub. Someone screwed up this week's roster so we have to watch the cameras." Reyes smirked into the microphone on the table "I see you're having fun." 

"Fuck you. Is anyone close? She's not getting any better!" Another metal clang punctuated his sentence.

Reyes looked down at the touchpad in his lap, "Well, Reinhardt is in the cafe behind you in D-Hall. I mean, you can risk getting impaled by a drill or something when you make the run or she can gouge your eyes out where you stand."

"I'll go with the first one asshole."

"Whatever  _puta_." He chuckled, closing the input to the comm. McCree chortled with laughter, keeling over in the office chair amidst his cluster of monitors. "He jus' got nailed in the head!" He drawled out between bouts.

Gabriel rolled his chair over, leaning to one side and smiling as the monitor displayed a limping Morrison making his way through a doorway, followed by an enraged Ana with a wrench in one hand and a helmet in the other. "You still got the cans?" he smiled.

McCree grinned, pulling two spray paint cans out of his discarded messenger bag, rattling the peas inside. Reyes' smile was surprisingly warm but nonetheless devious, "better get those back to Jack. I'll put them in his closet"

* * *

"REINHARDT HELP!" Jack slid out of the main corridor. His sneakers squeaked as he tried to gain traction and sprint towards the behemoth of a German who was peacefully playing a game. 

Reinhardt perked up, "Jack? What is it?" He placed his handheld on the counter of the kitchen and jumped up.

"It's Ana sh-"

" **I'll kill you Morrison!** "

"Oh." Reinhardt frowned.

"Yeah can you please help!" Jack ordered rather than requested. Reinhardt sighed, " I'll make some tea."

"Please hurry!" He yelled ducking behind the island.

When Ana enters a room, she makes it known if she wants to. That is, when she's calm. This was a whirlwind. She slammed into the door frame, stopping to a halt from the impact, chest heaving as she scoured the room. Her cap was lost in one of the previous maelstroms, putting her disheveled hair on display. Her eyes boiled with rage as her brows furrowed. " **Where is he!** " she bellowed.

Reinhardt had his back to her, pouring a pot into three mugs. "If I tell you, please just give him at least a minute to tell his side of the story." His voice was void of any emotion, save for the clear exhaustion in it. 

Ana was surprisingly quiet, mostly due to the fact she was trying to listen for Morrison's breathing. The only sounds she heard were the pot being poured and the scuttling of an agent who'd vacated the room upon the first signs of yelling.

"Fine." she huffed in frustration, placing her projectiles on a nearby coffee table.

"Thank you." Reinhardt smiled, turning around with three mugs of tea in only one hand, offering the first one to Jack who was still crouching behind the sink. He gave an incredulous look. _Are you fucking serious?_ he mouthed.

"Come on. She doesn't have anything left to throw." He supplied jokingly, jerking the mug towards the other side of the counter.

Peering over the island only presented Jack with daggers for eyes, courtesy of Ana. He immediately retracted back to his crouched position shaking his head. " _Verdammt._ " Reinhardt groaned.

He placed the tea mug on the counter, picking Jack up with his free arm, and carrying him over to the Egyptian woman, all the while Jack struggled against the unfaltering strength of the German.

He threw him onto the couch while offering a mug to Ana. She graciously accepted it, though her eyes were still darkened with fury as she scowled at Jack, causing him to quietly scramble to the farthest corner of the couch.

"All right Jack," Reinhardt started exasperatedly, walking back to the island for the other mug, "what have you done?" he inquired before setting himself down next to Ana and across from him.

Jack's retelling burst out in a mighty rapid, words falling over each other as he scrambled to put sentences together. "I was walking near the Quarters making the rosters for next week. Then I hear-" 

"WAIT YOU MADE THIS WEEK'S ROSTER?!  _HIJO DE_   _PERRA_!I HAVE TO SIT IN FRONT OF TEN FUCKING MONITORS WITH THE DAMN INGRATE FOR FIVE HOURS BECAUSE OF YOUR SORRY ASS!?" The earpiece blared in Jack's ear, causing him to wince "Shut up Gabe I'm trying to not to get pulverized here." He turned Gabe's ranting down to a small murmur in his ear.

Focusing back on his story, "As I was saying, I hear Ana scream. So I drop the pad and rush in to see her kneeling over her sniper rifle with the American flag painted literally all over it. I guess I must've laughed 'cause next thing I know, she has a knife against my throat." Ana lowered her eyes to her tea, smirking pridefully. 

"Well did you do it?" Reinhardt inquired. 

"Of course not! I'm not suicidal!" Jack retorted in offense, "Look, Ana, I have no idea who spray painted your gun, I am truly sorry. But it wasn't me, you have to believe me!" Jack gave the best puppy eyes he could.

Ana sat there silent, staring quietly at her tea. "Ok." She piped up finally, "I'll let you live for now. But only on the condition that you and Gabe will babysit Fareeha whenever I'm gone from now on."

"Done!" Jack replied instantly.

"And," she added, raising a finger, "you are completely barred from the salt in every kitchen on any and all bases." Straight face and all.

"Don- wait, what?" he buzzed in confusion.

"Jack," she glowered, "literally everyone has told you at least once. Salt is not a spice."

Jack shook his head and smiled, "Fine, fine, whatever it takes so you don't kill me."

" _Jayid_. " Ana rose, heading for the door, "Thank you for the tea Reinhardt. And I'm sorry for chasing you Jack. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to wash my sniper now.  _Wadaeaan_."

The Hoosier deflated like a balloon, letting out a gust of hot air in relief, putting his head into his hands when the sniper left the room. Reinhardt slouched in his chair, leaning back all the way so his legs jut out an extra few feet, sipping quietly at his tea.

"Heh, you know why she was pissed right?" A gravelly voice probed. 

"Oh?" Reinhardt got up and turned in his seat, one hand hanging lazily off the back.

Gérard Lacroix was busying himself with a toaster, "She's been giving Amélie private lessons on the range. I don't think she wants to be embarrassed in front of her pupil when she carries in the American flag rather than a gun." His French accent was surprisingly weak on his words for a native.

"Regardless," Jack started, still holding his head, "I have to babysit Fareeha, orient a new batch of recruits, supervise three missions from ops, and about ten kilos of paper work, all before dinner."

Reinhardt glanced back to Gérard who nodded. "About those recruits Jack..."

"What about 'em?" He peered above his hands.

"Gérard and I were wondering if we could take care of their orientation for you."

Jack raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Are you sure? I hear one of them can be... challenging."

"Yep, that's the one I want to see. I hear she's a damn good pilot and she might be a candidate for Slipstream." Gérard piped up from the toaster, lathering his bread in cheese.

"I owe him a favour and you know that I'm good with pests," Reinhardt let out an uproarious laugh, "I mean I got Gabe to come out of his shell to the rest of the team!"

"Because you annoyed him to the point of almost punching you in the face." Jack finished the German's sentence shaking his finger in his direction and smiling. "I mean, I won't fight you guys on this, go right ahead. I already got enough bullshit today." 

"Thank you Jack." the two husky men replied in unison. "Oh and about Little Fareeha," Reinhardt added, "I don't think Angela would mind. Go ahead and talk to her about it."

"Whatever you say big guy. Thanks again." Jack patted his shoulder and nodded at Gérard and left the room.

* * *

The landing pad the two men were headed to was a massive hunk of plasteel that jutted out from the rest of the base. It overlooked the quiet Mediterranean Sea. The setting sun painted it a queer colour, between orange and red, matching the clouds in the cool evening sky.

They were expecting a loud murmur from the group clustered around the jump ships. Instead a single shrill voice seemed to rise above the rest. " _WHAT!? HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT CHEEKY NANDOS IS!? ARE YA EVEN BRI'ISH?!"_ A small, short-haired brunette was in the face of a bulky, rough-looking fellow with tattoos all up his face. He looked positively terrified for someone his size.

"Recruits!" Gérard shouted, hands behind his back, prompting the clusters to assemble in a standard square formation. "Yes, Sir!" a few shouted in return.

"And that will be the last time you all do that. The first thing I want to get you all acquainted with is this is not a military organization anymore. This is an institution. While we maintain respect to superiors with 'sir' and 'ma'am,' there will be no formations or boot camp drills here. You are here to learn, and if you are good enough, teach yourselves." Gérard had begun pacing before the front line.

The recruits that shouted back looked at one another in confusion, others looked a bit more relieved. But one had their attention elsewhere.

"Furthermore, there are no 'grunts' here. Every person in this base has value; you wouldn't be here if you didn't have any. This is a family. Not a job. Any questions before I move on?"

"Oi! Who's tha' pret'y lady up there?" the short recruit shouted, pointing towards the balcony behind the two men. A figure was leaning against the guardrail, watching the scene. Reinhardt whispered something in Gérard's ear before waving the figure to come down.

She descended the stairs in a theatric fashion, long legs taking each step carefully and precisely before she reached the group. Reinhardt whispered something into her ear, causing her to grin. She approached the recruit, lips twitching in an extremely faint smile.

"Make a move." Gérard called out.

The air on the platform was thick with tension. The woman towered over the recruit, who's cheeks flushed a bright pink. "What is your name  _chérie_?" Her cheeks turned even brighter.

"Le-Lena Oxton." she choked out. The woman grinned and gave a soft chuckle, her long pony tail blew softly with the coastal wind. She wore a soft blue shirt which bore the Overwatch symbol on the shoulder. "Come here." she whispered, brushing a bit of rouge hair out of her eyes. Grinning like a fool, Lena simply put one foot in front of the other.

The woman shoved her in the chest, pushing Lena over her extended leg which caught the back of her's. Her back slammed into the ground with a hand still firmly planted on her chest.

"Fock." she cried, wheezing to catch her breath. The formation laughed collectively at the sight.

The woman pulled the Brit up, brushing dirt off Lena's shoulder before ruffling her combed hair. It sprung up and was blown by a sudden gust of wind as though she were in a wind tunnel.

While she sauntered off, Lena leaned over to a blond recruit "I think I'm in luv mate." eliciting a muffled chuckle as she covered her mouth.

"Oh and to answer your question recruit. That was my wife." Gérard roared for the entire platform to hear. No one said anything but Reinhardt who gave a boisterous roar of laughter. The Oxton didn't say anything else for the day.

* * *

Angela Ziegler was just walking out of Winston's lab, arms full of equipment to test a new nanobot she concocted a few days ago. She struggled to peer over the mound as she made her way through the corridors, trying to avoid any others caught in her path. "Oh Doctor! Here let me help you." Jack jogged over, lifting the majority of the devices and papers from her arms.

"Oh, thank you so much Commander!" she smiled to him. He seemed to perk up a bit more.

"No problem, though I thought I told you to call me Jack."

"Ah yes, I am terribly sorry Jack." she looked down at her feet.

"Oh it's fine." he laughed. They settled into a semi-uncomfortable silence until they turned into her infirmary and Angela glanced up at his head and sighed, "You're bleeding Jack." her brow's furrowing.

"What?" he asked, still smiling.

She only shook her head and led him to an examination table, urging him to sit on it. "There's nothing wrong with me Doc, I'm fine, trust me."

"Shut up and lean over," she ordered. He obeyed and folded himself in half, chest against his thighs and head on his kneecaps..

"Christ, did someone hit you in the head with a wrench?" she asked rhetorically.

"Well... kind of I guess." he admitted guiltily.

She sighed even louder, "you know, when I joined Overwatch, it was so that I could try and help others that you fought, not to take care of agents who hit each other with tools." She produced a bottle from a nearby cabinet and squirted some paste into her hand. "Just the other day, McCormick came in with a broken leg when he tried to vault over the guard rail of a balcony and onto one of the cliff side rocks!" She began to massage Jack's bruised head, causing him to yelp in pain. She ignored him, continuing her rant, "I never thought it possible that there are this many irresponsible adults in such a small area. You're all like ungrateful children who don't understand the concept of pain. You always go out and do the same thing, expecting a different result, but low and behold. You break the same thing I just fixed."

The longer she got into her rant, the harder she pressed her fingers into his skull. It didn't take long for him to cry out, "Mercy! Mercy! Damn! You're really strong!"

She blushed at both the compliment and her ranting, "I'm sorry co- Jack. It can get stressful in here."

"It's all right. Speaking of ungrateful children though, I was hoping to ask you a favour."

"Of course, what is it?" she called out over the running faucet as she washed her hands

"Well, I have a workload the size of the Grand Canyon today and I was hoping you could look after Fareeha until dinner tomorrow. It's a long story as to how it got to this, but suffice it to say, do you mind?" 

"Hm." Angela had settled into a chair, adopting a pensive look.

"I know we haven't truly gotten to know each other but Reinhardt said you may be open to it."

Her head snapped up and Jack could see Ana's daggers in Angela's eyes this time, "Reinhardt said that!?" she demanded.

"Yeah, he mentioned it to me. Why?"

"That  _Shizcoff!"_ she whispered, "Yes fine I'll do it. Just get out before I change my mind." she huffed out in anger.

Jack didn't need to be told twice as he thanked her profusely before leaving a flustered Dr. Ziegler to formulate a plan for the Egyptian teen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo. If you made it to the end, I'm quite surprised but I do hope you enjoyed. It's been a long time since I've done something like this so any feedback, good or bad, is appreciated. From here on out, chapters may get pretty short since I've got so much shit to do but there are chances where I may make an absurdly long section. I don't know yet, this is all kinda in my head and I'm just gonna wing it for the most part.  
> 


	2. Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus Christ did this finally come out yet?

"Would you like to start at the beginning again?"

"I don' know sir. It's awfully hard ta remember." Lena rubbed the back of her head and frowned.

"Here, I may have something that may help," he produced a metal pendant from his vest. A small coin hung from a leather band; two red arches met forming a vertical line. It was emblazoned in a deep red. "Just focus on the coin. Everything will come back." he cooed.

* * *

 

The hanger was expectantly, yet still abnormally, quiet. As Lena strolled towards the hanger door, she brushed past a note hanging from a cork board. Leaning down, she peered at it above her aviators. It was what she expected: a notice that all ops and flights were grounded for the day and no one, outside of special permission from Commander Morrison, was to be in the air.

"Hm. Some heavy reading I see?"

Lena immediately perked up, "Aw shut it! Ya know I've read plenty!" Lena's face scrunched up in mock-embarrassment as she whirled around and lightly punched Amélie in the shoulder.

"Your bookshelf begs to differ chère" she teased, ruffling the Brit's hair into further dishevelment. "Besides mission briefs and your textbooks, we both know your most demanding read is A Wrinkle in Time."

"And your point?"

Amélie folded her arms and leaned back, shaking her head softly and smiling. "Oh nothing chére."

"That's wot I thot. Come on now! It's almost time ya know?" Lena called, dragging her through the hanger doors, skipping happily into the massive silver box that served as the main hanger.

The fumes of oil and exhaust were the first to greet the two women. It immediately sucker punched the taller, causing her to falter and gag. Lena laughed sunnily and teased, "Didn't know ya gagged so easily. Gérard must 'ave a hard time!" Amélie retracted her hand and stood still on the runway as the ray of sunshine skidded to a halt.

Lena titled her head in confusion but apologized nonetheless, "Aw I'm sorry luv. I didn't mean anythin' by it."

"It's all right." She looked on at the Pilot's feet. Her arm found the other at her side, grasping it as she spoke. "We've just been having some... disagreements. Gérard and I, that is..." Her voice trailed off as she fell silent, still casting an empty gaze towards the floor.

Lena's furrowed brows were replaced with a look Amélie had rarely ever seen. She looked worried. Taking hold of Amélie's hand softly, she guided her to a nearby workbench under the shadow of a titanic drone.

"Truly Lena, it is nothing. You needn't worry." She tried to smile but it only seemed to hurt her more.

"Amélie." Lena's voice was cold and stern. The usual warm British sunshine was consumed by a frosty night. It frightened both of them beyond description but they refused to show it.

"You and Gérard are literally the most important people in my life. You both were there for me when I first joined and you have been the closest people to me ever since." Lena draped her hand over Amèlie's on her lap, squeezing it tightly. "I want to make sure you two are happy, regardl-"

"Oxton!" Lena was interrupted by a brusque engineer who was shouting as he casually walked into the hanger, Lena's Slipstream uniform tucked under his arm. "The VIPS are early! Wherever you are, hurry the fuck up!"

She peered at the sudden intrusion, "Fock... Ok luv, you better be here when I get back so we can pick this up, promise?" She turned to see the Frenchwoman staring emptily at Slipstream.

"Amélie?" The Brit tilted her chin up to peer into the cobalt eyes as she sighed, "'ere. Hold onto this for me." She rummaged through her back pocket and pulled out a silver pin. A crown sat atop a crest with the letters R-A-F emblazoned in the center. Wings sprouted heroically from the sides and displayed the crest proudly.

She hesitated at first, but eventually took the pin under protest, with a bit of force on Lena's part, "Lena, this is your lucky tag. I'm not about to take this away from you."

"Luv, I'm giving this to you so I have a reason ta come back. So keep it safe for me till I'm here. Got it? Promise?" Amélie took a deep breath and nodded, "Oui, yes, promise."

"Good. Well, 'ere we go." Lena hopped up and left the woman clutching the piece of silver in the shadows.

* * *

 

"Looks like we finally got the ratio right." He muttered under his breath.

"Wot?" Lena inquired, wiping a tear from her cheek.

"I'm sorry, nothing. Here." He handed her a box of tissues. "And so you don't remember anything after that?"

"No, do you know?" she pleaded rather than asked.

His smile was warm; it stretched across his face like a chasm opening in an earthquake but disappeared just as slowly, replacing itself with a look of concern and dismay. "Are you sure you want to know, good or bad?"

"Of course! Why would I no'?" She shouted in offense before blowing her nose.

"They say ignorance is bliss but if you insist." He bluntly put, shrugging his shoulders and digging through his pile of papers.

Lena finally found herself studying the man intently. She didn't recognize his face, though his jawline reminded her of someone she knew. A boss perhaps. But everything else was entirely foreign. Brown hair was slicked back, revealing a large forehead and plain-looking eyebrows. A pair of thin-framed spectacles sat before mahogany eyes. There was nothing truly spectacular about his character, despite his unusual way of speaking.

"Ah, here it is." He chirped up, seeming pleased with himself as he opened the file labeled Slipstream. He adjusted his glasses and hummed as he scanned the lines before coming to the desired place.

"The prototype began transmitting highly abnormal readings in the jump drive at approximately 14:34 hours, three minutes after take-off." His voice droned on as Lena retracted into a ball, pulling her legs into her chest and quietly burying her face into the red pair of sweats. A hole was beginning to form in her gut.

"14:35: panel AB-4 of the Cortex blew off, presumably damaging the jump drive further. When Subject Oxton went to engage the drive, she and the aircraft appeared to blink out of existence according to the monitoring instruments."

He peered above both file and glasses, studying Lena closely. The hole began to envelop her entire lower body. Her heart grew heavy and started to sink to meet it as she began to comprehend his words. "Did... did I die?" her voice shook with a fear she had never experienced before.

The man removed his glasses and placed them softly on the table. His voice was soft and quiet. "You didn't 'die,' per say. Rather... ceased to exist." He gestured discreetly towards her chest. As if by magic, a hunk of metal sat snug to her torso. The harsh red light radiating from the center seemed to go unnoticed by the Brit, as though she'd been used to it for a long while. Her hands began to bat at it frantically as her breathing grew shallow.

"What the fock is this!? Where the 'ell am I!? Who the fock are you even!?"

"Me? I'm Doctor Harold Winston. You're in a secure Talon base. We saved you with that Chronal Manipulator." He leaned over and steadied her frantic clawing at the harness. "I promise," he whispered, "everything will be fine. A promise is a promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a car driving on my way back from New York and I still have 6+ hours of homework left. I'm so sorry this has taken so long to get out and it's the shortest piece of crap ever. English and engineering are bombarding me with the entirety of what they consider homework and projects so many apologies. This is terrible writing on the account that I wrote this in about thirty minutes and I'm sick of seeing only 1 chapter so I'll edit this when I have time again (which will probably be never).
> 
> Some of you can probably see where this is going and I'm writing this because I rarely see a Talon Tracer Overwatch Widow fic so yeah.
> 
> Also please give me pointers cuz my work needs help.


	3. Cloudburst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the shortness...

_Dark and stormy_ was the only way to describe this night. Since the beginning of the day not once did the sun peek out beyond its ashen blanket of fog and cloud. No ray graced the snow-laden ground as an eternal night seemed to descend upon the lake. In its stead, a constant deluge of snow made its home upon the ice and land.

The landscape itself seemed to be destitute of all life, save for the towering metal monolith on the eastern shore. The only source of warmth and being, the pinnacle of the tower shot a brilliance of light to the ground, enshrouding the rock and snow in a cloak set a blaze. 

Here, on the uppermost platform, sat Amélie, turning a small silver pin over and over in her hand. Her mind raced back to that day.

It seemed so long ago since she last saw Lena clambering clumsily into the plane, shit-eating grin and all, waving like a lunatic before the cockpit snapped shut.

She could recall every detail of that snapshot; the pungent odors of gasoline and exhaust, the clear annoyance of the Chief Engineer as Lena began pressing buttons she wasn't supposed to just yet, even the slight rise in temperature of her skin as Lena waved goodbye. She couldn't remember returning it though...

The soft alarm on her wrist snapped her back to the literal dark and grim reality. Her fingers went to pacify the computer before she grabbed the rifle propped against the spire. "Motion sensor triggered in the northwest extrusion." a crackly voice rattled in Amélie's ear.

"Roger, anything?"

"Nope, could jus-" the voice was interrupted by a boisterous roar. "Ana!? What are you doing in here my friend!? Come and join the party!" 

"I already told you, if Amélie isn't there, neither am I." Ana retorted. Annoyance could be heard in her depths.

"Dear! No one is going to attack us! Come join us, please. Jack and Gérard are going to have a drinking competition and you can't miss it!"

"Hm." The line went silent for a couple of seconds, all the while Amélie was scanning the area for a sign for anything in the lifeless landscape.

"Tell you what you drunkard. I'll come to your party if you join me and Amélie on a walk."

An audible, almost childlike, groan was barely read by the transceiver. "Fine. But only because Amy is coming." 

"We'll meet you there," Ana chuckled. It sounded much drier over the comm.

"Will do."

* * *

Though she was from France, Amélie enjoyed the bitter cold. Whether it was a conscious effort to impress those who grew up in these conditions or she truly was unaffected by the cold, one would rarely catch her in nothing more than a sweater in below freezing temperatures. Combined with her uniform's insulation and minor heating, this sub-zero wasteland was merely a spectacle more than anything else.

Snow was unfamiliar to her, though. She always assumed it would be soft and wet, the way Angela had often described it as she reminisced of her time in Switzerland.

This was an entirely different variety. Crunching beneath her boot, any exposed skin it touched burned and seemed to cut. Regardless, she decided to treat it as a friend's friend.

The security alert was triggered quite a distance from the complex, some five hundred meters or so from the perimeter battery, barely within the effective range of her rifle from her perch.

She didn't mind the trek, though. It was a peaceful night in stark contrast to the anarchic party inside. She did miss the small piles of snow that she had collected on her watch.

Eventually, the white of the ground began to rise in a mound before Amélie. To someone unfamiliar with the landscape, it seemed to be made completely out of snow rather than the comically oversized rock beneath the stark blanket. A tall oak loomed before her.

She drew up behind a tree just in front of the mound. The flakes around her had begun to dance in the frigid dark, a silent ballet for anyone to see in the open air.

"Area clear." She tapped her earpiece, gazing out over the vast empty white.

"Roger, we'll be there in a few minutes." Ana crackled in reply.

"Roger." Swiping a finger across the monitor and effectively shutting her suit down.

Setting the rifle and herself against the old tree, she found her hands retrieving the old bit of silver from her pouch, twirling it silently in her hand as she emptily watched the ballet before her.

* * *

"Hey Amélie." The captain smiled warmly.

"Ana. Reinhardt." She nodded at each respectively. Her hands slipped the silver back into her pouch.

Eyebrows furrowed, Amélie gestured at the curious rifle Ana had slung over her back. The stock and barrel hummed a soft blue, illuminating the Egyptian it rode on and the shivering German beside her.

"Yes. I wanted to give this to you. It's an experimental railgun, straight out of trial testing. Claude wanted me to try it but I don't do this new fancy bullshit. Completely unreliable. I heard they're trying to develop a rifle that heals. Like what the fuck?"

"As you said. Unreliable." Amélie slipped the unusually light longarm over Ana's head, testing the sight and its overall condition.

"Oh and this goes with it," she produced a small mask with a see-through front from behind her. Amélie paid no heed to the seemingly magical appearance of the mask. "They said it can see through walls and any footprints in the past ten minutes. Don't ask me how."

Amélie clicked it into place, attaching to her neck guard with the softest of noises. A heads-up-display immediately presented itself with her ammunition count, vitals, and the condition of her suit.

"Well, Amy?" The giant finally spoke from behind his layers. She only gave a non-committal hum before tapping the button on her right temple.

The mask immediately hummed to life, blasting her view with a tint of pale yellow. The figures of her friends before her were replaced with two blue silhouettes, trailing them were a set of similarly coloured footprints.

"Hm. This is impressive." She declared coldly with barely a hint of admiration in her voice. Ana smiled and Reinhardt laughed.

Amélie continued to scan the surroundings. Noticing the multitude of blue figures in the mess hall of the base. Her vision was bombarded with yellow and blue anywhere she looked, save for the lone red in the Tech wing.

"Ana, did they tell you what the colours meant?"

"Blue for Overwatch agents and affiliates, green for VIPs, red for hostile omnics and agents, yellow for civilians." Ana listed off, counting from her fingers.

Before Amélie could say anything else, the red had disappeared. Gone without a trace. "Hm. Still has some kinks to work out then."

"Well, you can't expec-"

* * *

Amélie was the first to come to. Her vision was blurry, to say the least, a blight sat in the center of her vision, enshrouding the dark in further black. Everything seemed to flow around her.

Ana was lying still beside her, head bloodied and battered from the blow to the tree. Reinhardt was in the mound, face skyward, equally still.

Amélie dove to Ana, frantically checking for a pulse. " _Non non non."_ There was a small pulsating lump in her throat, " _Oh Dieu merci."_

Her sweet shower of relief was immediately tarnished by the rumbling and crashing of the metal tower. Whirling around, she was confronted with fire. Fire and smoke. that was what was obstructing her view as she could barely make out the form of the collapsing tower as it fed the Inferno even further. Her stomach dropped.

A weird feeling began to coil in her chest and stomach. It was a mixture of pure dread and a sliver of hope. Hope none of this was real. Not just the fire, but the past year of pain and suffering brought about after Lena disappeared. The agony of a loveless marriage and disappearance of her best friend. The coil tightened.

Nothing was moving. All was still as she witnessed the conflagration envelop the building, eating away at the metal and concrete. The flames lit up the night sky with a brilliant glow as they licked at the pitch black sky, giving off the faint crackling similar to a pleasant wood fire. 

" _N_ _on_..."

"Hah, hope ya didn' have any attachment ta that place Luv." a familiar Cockney giggled behind her. It was enough to bring Amélie to the ground.

She fell to it, legs giving out. Facing the ground, she could feel the tears welling in her eyes, "you're not real. Go away," she barely whimpered out. The reply was close to someone crying.

"Luv! Me not real!? Ha! 'ere, I'll prove it." And without another word, Amélie's calf was ripped open by a barrage of bullets. She cried out, any barrier holding her tears back had evaporated as she collapsed onto the snow, vision turning milky and warm.

A pair of black running shoes and leggings stepped into her field of view, soon replaced by a blinding red light. From behind crimson goggles, a grinning brit squatted down to the frenchwoman, "Hm, don't worry Luv, cavalry's 'ere." A blur of red was the only farewell before a transport ripped past above her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this after I finished last chapter but dropped it when my workload started killing me. I picked it up again after November 9th because this fantasy world, the one that I plan on making angsty af, makes me feel so much better than what is actually happening right now.  
> On the bright side, it has made me plot out the next threeish chapters but writing them is gonna be a whole other story.  
> Also, I chose a railgun because my friends were like "It's 2077 how does no one have a railgun" and I'm just like "ooh..." (the railgun was supposed to be a sidearm for Mercy according to our Mercy Main) Plus I wanted to differentiate substantially regular Widow and Overwatch Widow along with Talon Tracer and regular Tracer. I'll get more into it hopefully.


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I post such short chapters. Also, somebody help me with French, I struggle with English still.

A low pleasant buzz was about the only thing that could be heard in the deserted amphitheater. The open air of the Mediterranean seated itself for the spectacle on stage: a cheerful British pilot, whistling a tune while writing on a slip of paper.

Her legs kicking happily over the edge, she was completely unaware of the slender figure creeping up behind her. Lena had no chance to react as it approached, taking up a position just behind her back.

"Oh?"

"Ah! Ya wanker!" Lena yelped, flinching away from Amélie, cheeks flushed a bright red, "don't scare me like that!"

Amélie gave a white smile and laughed softly, "what were you writing there chére? Something I can read?" As she inquired, she rested her chin atop Lena's mess of hair.

"Wh-what? No! No no no! This is- is not for you!" Her face began to share a resemblance of a ripe tomato. "And even if it was, I would never share it with you!"

"Is that so?" Amélie chuckled, "Is it for a special little someone? A boyfriend? Crush?"

"Amélie!" Lena's accusatory voice reverberated off the cliffside and onto the Mediterranean Sea. It blew with a relieving cool evening wind to the formerly oppressive heat of the set sun.

She held up her hands in surrender, "ok, ok. I'll stop pushing. I just wanted to know who could have possibly warranted 'Love, Lena <3.'" drawing a small heart in the air and raising her voice to Lena's octave.

"Fuck off!" She half screamed half laughed and completely smiling.

Amélie giggled, "It's all right Chére, you can keep some secrets if you want." She replaced her chin on her head and draped her arms over her shoulders. "You just better invite me to the wedding."

"You'd be the Maid of Honour Luv." She replied, folding the paper into a thin triangle and stuffing it into her bomber jacket.

"Thank you, now get some rest." She clapped Lena on the shoulders, "The test flight's tomorrow."

"Awwww... Fine. Night Amélie."

"Good night Lena." She smiled as the Brit struggled out of her grip and strolled off into the moonlight, whistling a catchy tune. Amélie thought she recognized it from one of those nights Lena decided to blast her vintage music across the quarters. The memory of Reinhardt and her fighting over the true classic, Hasselhoff or Sinatra, was still fresh in her mind.

She shrugged, deciding to enjoy the moonlight on her own. In the dark.

A part deep inside herself wished Lena had actually stayed to enjoy it with her. She cast the thought out of her mind, it was too late for any of that.

* * *

 Amélie's eyes strained against the fierce light. Her throat was chalk-dry and her head pounded like the hammer of an old Swede. An ever so constant blip of an EKG could be heard next to her.

"Hey." A soft voice whispered in an even softer tone.

She went to set herself up to reply, only to collapse back onto the cot as her calf rippled her body with a shock of agony. "Don't. Your wound is still fairly new, The skin itself has barely even recovered."

Amélie adjusted her head; though her eyes were still foggy she could see a golden ponytail hunched over in a visitor's chair. Before Amélie opened her mouth, Angela started.

"Reinhardt is fine. He broke his back on a rock but we repaired the damage. We still don't know who blew up the Watchpoint but Gabriel is directing all resources to it." Her somber expression deepened as she looked to the ground, "There were no survivors but you three..."

They were both silent for a long while, one trying not to break down, the other trying to simply process what was just said. The air grew cold as the sun was enveloped by a soot-coloured cloud. Finally, someone broke the silence, "we found this near you," Angela gestured to the silver pin on the bedside table, "it was in the snow and I accidently stepped on it."

Angela was visibly wrestling with a question in her mind, her mouth would barely part or her eyes would dart away anytime she looked at the bed.

"Go ahead and ask." Amélie finally whispered.

"No, it's not my place." she replied meekly, "I didn't talk to her as much as I should have. Only for check-ups and the such..." lightly chuckling was the only way to describe Angela's tone. She had a habit of doing that any time she told stories or recounted something.

Amélie couldn't wait any longer. "What about Ana." The doctor kept her eyes to the floor, hesitating before fumbling her words.

"Ana... We cannot... We have to wait. The blast threw her against a tree. She fractured her skull and in all likelihood suffered serious... trauma. We repaired all we could, but until she wakes up..." she sniveled, "if she wakes up..."

Amélie shut her eyes. This can't be happening, this can't.

"I- I'm sorry. I'll come back later." Angela's voice broke as she hurried out of the room. Outside she heard her conversing with someone, her tone even more crushed, "I'm sorry Fareeha." she whimpered.

She couldn't hold it back anymore. Laying her head on the pillow, Amélie burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. Her leg protested, sending shots of agony into her body. It didn't matter, though. Nothing did anymore.

* * *

It had been two weeks and still no one could speak of what happened. The lack of dialogue between the UN and the remainder of Overwatch caused a rift between the two. A rift that quickly divided them, resulting in the shutdown of the former. All Watchpoints were seized and under occupation by UN troops while ties were absolved from the remaining agents.

Reinhardt would sit in Amélie's hospital chair, abnormally quiet as he stared emptily in front of him. It unnerved anyone who knew him and showed the damage done. The boisterous German was silent for once in his life. Jack would celebrate the newfound quiet from the typical thundering.

Amélie gazed out her window upon the white wasteland that covered Zurich. The smoke stack of the Watchpoint had finally been quelled just three days ago, it had remained a raging inferno through the countless hours of tears and silence in the past weeks.

A particularly large flake had drifted onto Amelie's window and clung to it as Reinhardt began for the first time this week, "how long have you had the pin?" His voice was the equivalent of an empty plain.

"Since the flight," she replied in a similar fashion. Her cot was moved next to the window, placing Reinhardt and the table directly behind her. She heard the metal of the pin scrape against the table. She imagined the oversized fingers examine it and turn it over thoughtfully.

He sighed deeply, a tired sound that could take the energy out of a room. She heard him rummaging through his bag. He'd been released from the hospital two days after being admitted on account of using the experimental nanobots courtesy of Angela. She explained she didn't want to use them on a flesh wound like Amélie's or an injury with so many variables like Ana's if she could help it, in between bouts of emotions.

He'd gone to the blast site four days after. He described it; the fire was still alive and well, destroying any attempts to quell its fury, the non-chalantness of the crews there who'd given up on the whole venture altogether, resigning themselves to trying to contain it instead. He stopped talking when he came back and gained the hollowness that was now a part of his being.

Amélie heard the pin drop onto the bed, followed by a piece of paper. "Not to sound like an _Arschloch_ , but people saw me as someone who can keep a secret. Many people, for some reason, told me things that they didn't want anyone else to know.

"I had a safe box in Berlin with any documents they wanted to be kept safe. After the UN seized our assets, I had the contents of it shipped to me by hyper-train." He got up, zipping up a leather messenger bag, "I'm going to check on some friends. They're probably worried about me."

Amélie stayed at the windowsill, legs curled up into her chest, back still turned. "I'll see you around Amy. Stay safe." She saw him trudge through the knee-deep snow. A light dusting he'd probably have said a couple weeks ago. She didn't move until the clock struck seven and the sun had set upon the Winterland.

She replaced the pin back on the table, picking up the paper. It was curiously folded into a triangle. She only knew one person who folded this way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooohhh what's the slip??
> 
> I headcanon Reinhardt as many things, including giving cute nicknames to everyone and being able to keep everyone's secret.  
> Also Lena totally listens to jazz and no one can tell me otherwise.


End file.
